I don't own anything that you recognize as a company. And I don't own Harry Potter, even though I really wish I did.

Also, the formatting is VERY screwed up. When I use dots or whatever to indicate a skip in time, it disappears. So if you ever see a weird time break, there is SUPPOSED to be something there.

Dear Katie,

Did you go to the World Cup? I saw someone who looked kind of like you; I was sitting in the Top Box. If you were there, where did you sit? Was that you I saw?

Love, Oliver

Hi Oliver-

I, unlike you, do not have enough money to afford a Top Box seat. I checked the price, and it was my entire SALARY for a year. At least. Of course, I'll get a raise when I'm an actual Auror, but still. Yes, I was there, but I was in the cheap seats. Now I just can't go shopping for a month. (!)

Bye-

Katie

Dear Katie,

Well then, there ARE perks to being a star Quidditch player. You should have taken up Pride of Portree's offer.

Love,

Oliver

Oliver, I want to be an Auror for a reason. I like Quidditch as a sport. I don't want to play it as a JOB

-Katie

Kates,

Maybe I am slightly obsessed. Why do girls like shopping?

Oliver

Olliekins,

1. You are not just slightly obsessed. 2. So we don't look all scruffy (like you)

Katie

He called me Kates.

I sat there at Tasha's kitchen table, two weeks after the World Cup. I couldn't be friends with him. I mean, what if he (gasp) VISITED?

The apocalypse and crap like that would happen.

I think that apocalypse means the end of the world.

Okay, maybe not that drastic, but whatever.

You know, I tend to ramble a lot.

And, I need chocolate.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dear Leanne,

I scrawled half-heartedly on a piece of torn notebook paper

I can't believe I forgot, but when is the wedding?

Katie

Hopefully it's after the baby has been born. Glamour charms are power consuming.

Speaking of the baby, Tasha and I need to paint what will be her room. I'm thinking of yellow. My room in Ireland was pink, and I hated it. Although blue or green would also be nice.

Or maybe I'll paint a design. If Tasha will hurry up from reading at Barnes and Nobles and buys the paint at that art store she loves.

Well.

I'll be waiting for a while.

Hot chocolate, anyone?

………………………………………………………………..

Twenty-two cans of paint are resting on the kitchen table.

Now I know why Tasha took so long.

There are shades of green, red, and yellow, blue, purple, black, white, and who knows what else.

I am so definitely forgiving her for being late

"Tasha!" I say loudly. "You must have spent over two hundred dollars on this paint!"

"No, I didn't." She says coolly. "I have a discount card there, and they know me, also. Besides, there was a buy one get one free deal too. "

"Oh," I say, still kind of shocked. "But still!"

She shrugs.

"Come on, let's go. We can do all kinds of things to those walls!"

She levitates the paint into the room, grinning.

"I'll take one wall to start," I say. "You do the same. So we can do two walls each and then I have a great idea for the ceiling."

She flicks her brush at me, with some paint on my hair. Now I have yellow streaks as well as fading purple ones.

…………………………………………………..

Some time later

We have finished painting the room (in egg based tempera, of course, normal paint is supposedly bad for the baby when I use it) and it is gorgeous. The ceiling is half night and half day, with stars, constellations, and clouds and a sun and a moon. On the walls I had to paint I painted sunflowers in a meadow and a waterfall on the other. Tasha painted me holding a small bundle that is supposed to be my baby, and a castle. Then together we bewitched the floor to reflect the sky outside. If a Muggle sees it they'll just see an extremely accurate painting of the sky.

This room is perfect. I love it to death. I hope that my daughter will too.

I have more paint in my hair.

…………………………………………………..

Dear Aislinn,

How's Kermit? I presume that he's fine.

More American slang:

Dude is basically him/her. Yo dude is hi blank space (insert name of person).

DO. NOT. TELL. MUM.

Love,

Katie

Dear Katie,

PHILLIP is fine. He DOES NOT like being called Kermit. Thank you for even more instruction on American slang. Mum doesn't know. Aiden now is hiding under the bread rolls. We're done with the pasta. I hope you like red sauce and parsley, separate of course. I love you too.

Love,

Linny

……………………………………………………

Dear Katie,

This is Tonks. I'm having the baby VERY soon. You are required to come after he or she is born for the naming of you as her godmother. Therefore, very soon.

Love,

Tonks

P.S. Why don't you like kumquats?

Dear Tonks,

Okay, I can come. Just set it on weekend so I'll have time off for sure. I'll come on a Friday night, then.

Love,

Katie

P.S. I don't like kumquats because of Aiden, paintball guns and a linen sheet.

Dear Katie,

Explain about Aiden, paintball guns and the linen sheet.

Love,

Tonks

Dear Tonks,

Basically, Aiden sprayed Mum's nice linen sheet with several shots of red paintball pebble thingies, then dribbled kumquat juice all over it. Then he put it on MY bed. I lay down that night to wet paint and icky juice.

At least I got him back.

Love,

Katie

Dear Katie,

How did you get him back for that prank?

Love,

Tonks

Dear Tonks,

I turned his hair pink and his skin purple for a week. And that week he had a date with some "hot Ravenclaw chick" (his words, definitely not mine) her name was Carlyss Litsin. An airhead and a boob.

Love,

Katie

…………………………………………………

A long long time ago, in a Quidditch Pitch far away….

I don't believe it. We've won. We've won the actual Quidditch Cup. Us.

I'm kind of speechless.

Harry caught the Snitch, beating that cheater Malfoy. Honestly, trying to slow Harry down… illegally, I might add! Hmph. (Still kind of sore about that. So is Oliver. And Madam Hooch, but she gave us penalties. Yay. Easy shots.)

But who cares? (Okay, I still kind of do…) We won. We freaking won the Cup!

Like I said, I'm kind of speechless.

But everything has calmed down, slightly anyway, and all the Gryffindors are allowing us to shower. Well, maybe they are because Ange was screaming "Evil! Evil! I NEED A SHOWER YOU F-ING BITCHES!" over and over and over again, no doubt scaring and scarring the minds of a few ickle firsties.

Whatever. They need to be toughened up. Though Fred and George may have taken care of that by using them as test subjects for pranks…

Ahem.

We are currently being deposited (literally. Being literally dumped down from a bunch of maniac Gryffindor shoulders counts as depositing. And, it hurts.)

OOO

The shower water is cold. And that is SOME gratitude. I mean, hello, we won the Quidditch Cup! Couldn't we at least have some hot water?

Oh wait…

Fred, George, Ange and Licia already took long, long showers. I bet they used up all the nice steamy hot water.

Bastards. Even if two of them are my best friends and the other two I've known forever, or since we were three.

Anyhow, I don't know how to do a Water Heat charm, but Oliver might. He is in seventh year after all.

Then again, I swear that all that goes on in his brain is Quidditch, Quidditch, Torture Quidditch team, and more Quidditch. Times infinity.

Plus two.

What I just said- that really doesn't make any sense.

But making sense means things are boring. And who wants a boring life?

Maybe some accountant named Alan Smith who lives in the suburbs and has a spotless house and two perfect kids and a housewifely wife and all that. No insults intended to anyone who does. And is named Alan Johnson.

Right. Back on task. Hot water.

"Oliver?" I call out questioningly

"Yeah Katie?" he says. "What is it?"

"Shower," I say. "Cold water. Heating Charm. Duh."

Putting it in simple language so his Quidditch obsessed brain can understand. Basic English, that's the trick.

I march over too where he is standing.

"The idiots we call our Chasers- not me, I'm perfect- and the Redheaded Terrors we call our Beaters have used up all of the hot water!"

I emphasize this by stabbing him in the arm after every word. He winces. I know that my nails are sharp. This is entirely better to pinch or poke people (like Fred and George, much as I like them) with, that short nails that are filed either rounded are square.

Oliver winces. He looks at me, his face a nice shade of pink. I start blushing as I realize what I'm wearing: a bra and my knickers.

Oops?

"Katie," he says, and I cross my arms over my chest, kind of shoving my boobs up. Which was completely an accident. I don't want ANYNE ogling my chest, at all. Gross.

Now we're both really red.

"Katie-" and suddenly his mouth is on mine, his arms around my back and we are kissing, my arms moving to wrap around the back of his neck, and it feels right, perfect- we're ignoring the fact that he has a girlfriend- and it stays like this for days, weeks, but then-

"Agghh!"

Poor Harry.

"You- Wood- snogging- underwear- too young to see that- my poor eyes-!" he sputters, attempting to poke his eyes out with his Quidditch gloves.

Anyone would know that that doesn't work. First of all, Harry forgot to take of his glasses. Second of all, his Quidditch gloves are made of leather. Nice, soft (well kind of) floppy leather.

And Harry is supposed to save us all from You Bloody Well Know Who.

Scary.

"Harry," I say, gently and kindly. I don't do gentle and kind, really. "Look, snogging is a natural part of life, along with breathing, eating, and peeing."

Alright, maybe that wasn't such a stellar example.

Harry opens his mouth.

"Where's the soap?" he asks

I point over towards the bathroom.

"In the bathroom," I say. "Possibly in the toilet."

"You were being sarcastic, right?" says Harry.

"No duh," I say. "Unless Fred and George got hold of it. Scat. Oliver and I are busy."

He runs off towards the bathroom, presumably to wash out his eyes.

Huh. Thirteen year olds. So full of themselves.

"Oliver," I say, and then reach up to kiss him again.

I could get used to this.

He's kissing back, and then I hear a creak.

Both of us ignore it. Kissing is starting to turn into snogging.

But then I pull away, because a thought I just had hits me.

Oliver has a girlfriend. Carlyss Litsin. Carlyss the Bitch.

"Oliver, stop," I mumble, not really meaning it. I mean, come on. This was a good kiss.

But I muster up my courage and self control and willpower and all that crap and wrench my lips of his.

"Oliver, you have a girlfriend. Remember her? Carlyss Litsin? Carlyss the Bit-" I cut off as I realize what I'm saying, but he doesn't seem to notice.

Thank you, God and all of your holy squirrels.

I know, I'm screwed up.

"Why," he says. "I was going to break up with her last week, but I can't find her anywhere."

"Yeah," I say. "But we're still kind of cheating on her, or you are."

He looks at me.

"Kates," he says, all softly.

And then he kisses me again and this time I don't protest, because this time it just feels right.

"Are you too ever going to STOP!"

Harry comes out of the bathroom, his eyes red rimmed. From the soap? I thought he wasn't being serious.

"No," I say, crabbily. I don't want to be interrupted! "So go away. Go find Ron and Hermione, or whatever they're called. Oliver and I are busy."

Actually, I call Ron Ronniekins. I think that I spend way too much time around Fred and George. They're having an INFLUENCE!

Harry stomps off.

Thirteen year olds are moody, too.

I glance up at Oliver. He's looking completely puzzled at Harry's behavior. I'm not, because Harry's acting like my four year old sister, Aislinn. Although we all call her Linny. She gets tantrum-ish too although it's usually not because I'm kissing Oliver. She hasn't met Oliver. Usually it's because she can't find her doll, or Aiden was being a prat and took it away or pulled her hair or something.

"You can continue kissing me," I inform Oliver, grinning. He grins back.

"As you wish, fair lady."

I'll let that slide.

Right. Sorry that this took so long. Thanks a TON to Lia06 for beta-ing, again, and thanks to everyone who reviewed. Anyway, school will be out on June 28th, so then I can update more. But not for the week of July 4th, because I'm going away with no Internet access.